


He who hunts monsters

by Arabwel



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Betrayal, M/M, Militia days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how much he tried to distance himself from the thought that he had to end this, to kill Bass, it didn’t help. The whiskey ceased to blur the pain, leaving behind a deep ache like a badly healed bone. Here he was, about to rip out his heart and soul with a single bullet, end forty years of everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He who hunts monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Biblionerd07 for your good kind words in regards to this fic <3 Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors you encounter.

“His wife and children.”  
  
The words echoed in Miles’s head when he left the room, his face numb with more than just whiskey and cold.   

 

SIx years after the blackout 

 

The smell of fresh blood and decay hung thick in the air.  Miles swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he watched the men taking down the four small bodies, covering the mutilated children with white sheets. 

 

“For fuck’s sake, Miles,” Bass was growling next to him, unsteady on his feet. “They were just kids. They’d done nothing. that rotten scumbag killed them for what? for their daddy standing up to him?”    


 

Miles squeezed Bass’s arm. “Disproportionate retribution.” it made even him feel sick and after Baltimore,  that was saying something. 

 

Bass looked up, his blue eyes hard. “Miles, promise me something. If I ever get like that, just put a bullet in my head. 

  
Miles closed his eyes. Ever since Shelley, Bass had had his good days and his bad days. The raid on the other camp on that day had been a bad one -  “No survivors.”-  but the good had outnumbered the bad. 

 

For now. 

**

 

The memory sat heavy on his mind as he made his way back to his rooms. It was operational security that he and Bass no longer stay in close quarters. General Matheson’s official residence was at the Militia headquarters where the hustle and bustle of everyday business was conducted. A far cry from the days they bunked together in leaky tents and narrow beds, long after they could’ve claimed the privilege of privacy and space with rank. 

 

As vital as it was, it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He wondered if they had stayed together, said fuck appearances, fuck security, if the fact that he could not remember the last time Bass had had a good day would be different.  

 

The good days had long been outnumbered by the bad. But this? this was the last straw. 

 

If I ever get like that just put a bullet in my head 

 

*** 

Miles knew what he had to do. 

 

Kill President Monroe. 

 

Kill Sebastian Monroe. 

 

Kill Bass. 

 

Kill his best friend. 

 

Kill his brother.

 

Kill his -

 

No matter how much he tried to distance himself from the thought that he had to end this, to kill Bass, it didn’t help. The whiskey ceased to blur the pain, leaving behind a deep ache like a badly healed bone. Here he was, about to rip out his heart and soul with a single bullet, end forty years of  everything.

 

He knew what would happen, after. If he did not get shot as a traitor on the spot, he’d be dead within days - be it from a murder trial or a knife in the back the fight for power at the wake of Bass’s passing would create. 

 

Miles was under no illusions that the people would welcome him any more than they did Bass, he was, after all, the Butcher of Baltimore. But the infighting at the very top of the republic could give Georgia or the rebels the edge they’d need to act, to destabilize enough to plunge the republic into chaos. 

 

They had worked far too hard to let that happen. 

 

So Miles got to work. 

 

****  
  
Of all the officers he enlisted to help him, Kipling was the one he kept away from the actual plotting. Kip was a good man, and he was doing this because he thought it was the right thing to do - that Bass was no longer fit to lead a nation.  The rest, however… 

 

Well, it was such a shame he could not get Strausser involved; the man was far too away from the capital  at the moment, for good reasons. 

 

Holding the meetings in a whorehouse, with neither himself nor any of the men involved availing themselves to the women was like a neon sign of old -  here there be conspiracy .  He made sure the trail was wide and clear, and that whoever would be looking for the conspirators would have a big, fat target.  Take out the worst of the lot, the ones that admired Miles because of his viciousness and brutality and who wanted this chance to advance, to take a harsher grip of the republic.  Good riddance.  Jeremy would make sure of that, after he’d be done with histrionics over being told to clean up the mess by whoever would take charge, unless he’d make a run for it before then. You never knew. 

 

Who was he kidding? There’d be no firing squad for him. 

 

At least Rachel was - gone.  One less complication. 

 

Gone were the days when Miles could have just waltzed into Bass’s rooms;  gone were the days when the guards would have looked away, or just nodded and known better than to smile had the Commanding General paid the President a late night visit that would last until the wee hours of the morning. Or longer. 

 

He was pretty sure there was still a spare uniform of his in Bass’s closet. There was a reason why the laundresses in the building were on I & I’s payroll as well as on the more domestic. The return of servants had made things both a lot easier and a lot more complicated in that regard…

 

The thoughts that swam through his head were inconsequential, snippets of memory and trivia as he strode along the darkened corridor with a grim purpose.  He did not want to do this, but he had no choice. 

 

The door swung open silently. The room was dark, barely any light passing through the heavy curtains. The carpet was soft under his booted feet, making no noise as he passed through the living room towards to where Bass slept. 

 

Bass would be alone, Miles had made sure of that.  Not that Bass having company was that common, but he’d made absolutely certain that no one else would get in harm’s way. 

  
No one else. 

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and criticism welcome.


End file.
